


One Less Life

by tenyears



Category: Glee
Genre: Angst, Apocalypse, I can't write full on angst, Light sexy times, M/M, Reincarnation, Somewhat happy ending???
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-12
Updated: 2013-05-12
Packaged: 2017-12-11 16:19:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/800692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tenyears/pseuds/tenyears
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s the end of the world, and there’s only one place Dave Karofsky would rather be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Less Life

**Author's Note:**

> First fic posted on here but definitely not my first fic overall. Got the idea for this in the shower and wouldn't let up until I finished it. I originally planned it to be maybe 500 words...obviously that didn't work out like I had planned lol. Enjoy.

It begins around midnight on a Saturday.

He performs his nightly ritual: brush teeth, play some Call of Duty, check if dad’s still breathing, bed. Other teenagers would be out and about living their lives; Dave Karofsky is not one of them.

The moment he turns on his television and sees the panic written on the newscasters’ faces, he knows this is it. It’s the end; and for once, he’s glad.

His window is cracked open and Dave ignores the screams coming from outside. He closes his eyes and _breathes_ , feeling the air filter through even as the stench of engines and gun powder begin to fill his nostrils.

Dave wonders if his dad can hear the commotion through his small room down the hall. Two bedroom, two bathroom apartments in Columbus don’t exactly give one the privacy they deserve. And if this is truly the end, Dave wants his dad to live out his last moments in peace.

_Bang, bang_. The first gunshots of what promises to be a long night ring out through the streets. Dave braces himself. He mentally prepares himself, coming up with his end-of-the-world checklist. Opening up the closet door he grabs the nearest baseball bat and carries it with him out to the front door. The coffee table is the first to go as Dave pushes it against the doorframe, blocking anyone from coming in or going out.

Next are the windows. He follows the typical Hollywood protocol: windows nailed shut (in Dave’s case, taped shut), bug-out bag in place (it takes Dave a while to find an empty knapsack to fill with supplies), and a weapon (baseball bat). Maybe even a prayer or two. _God help us all_.

Once Dave has his bag packed with cans of food, water and other necessities, he makes a last minute decision. Returning to his room, Dave watches his television as the newscaster, some reporter he had never cared about, has her head blown off by a stray bullet live on air. The cameraman screams before seemingly falling to his knees, channel fading to black like something out of a horror film.

His mind is made up.

Fighting back tears, Dave makes his way out of his room slowly, coming to a complete stop at the closed door of his father’s room. Memories of happier times fill his mind; of the time he and his dad went and saw that airshow and made model planes after, or even the time he won his very first hockey game. _“You did it, Davey!”_ His father had yelled, throwing his arms around his son. _“You can do anything you set your mind to.”_

_You can do anything you set your mind to,_ Dave repeats to himself. He hopes he can finally make his dad proud again.

The door opens with a creak as Dave peers inside. The room is so small that only one tiny window sits on the left-side wall. Muffled noise seeps through the cracks though the window is shut, his father’s snoring being the only noise truly filling the room.

He basks in the sound, letting it fill him with strength Dave knew he needed to have. While the world outside was going to hell, Dave’s father was still oblivious as ever. Who knew one could take the most human of acts, sleeping, for granted.

He approaches his dad’s bed with trepidation, hoping beyond all hope he does not wake him up. With one large hand Dave reaches underneath his father’s second, unused pillow and grasps a key, using it to unlock the nightstand drawer next to the bed.

When he lays eyes on the object, Dave grasps it in hand and prays he gets it right. With a sigh, he closes his eyes.

_Our Father, Who art in heaven._

_Hallowed be Thy Name;_

_Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done,_

_On earth as it is in heaven._

_Mother would be proud_ , Dave thinks. _I’m finally praying again._

He loads the gun swiftly and soundlessly, cocking it and turning off the safety with an ease he hadn’t known he had. With one last, longing look at his father, Dave places the extra pillow over his head. _I love you, dad._

He pulls the trigger.

Not looking back, Dave grabs the rest of the ammunition and exits the room, closing his father’s door softly as if he were merely sleeping. In Dave’s mind, he was. In Dave’s mind, everything was still okay, or at least their version of okay.

He wipes at tears he wasn’t aware were falling, grabs his bag, and leaves his home for the last and final time.

***

The streets aren’t as bad as Dave had expected, though they certainly weren’t clean by any stretch of the imagination. The smell of rotting corpses and smoke fills the air and as Dave reaches his car, he breathes a sigh of relief. His was one of the only ones not overturned or stolen.

_Bless this fucking hunk-of-junk,_ he thinks.

He keeps his headlights off for the duration of his ride outside of his neighborhood. Dave had driven through it so many times in the year and a half he had lived here that he could ride it in his sleep, and the less attention he brought to himself, the better.

His father’s gun was cocked and at the ready for anyone who dared to try and cross him. The bat wouldn’t do much good in this case, but he had that too, even if just for backup. Most people were still asleep in their houses when the news broke; most of them had probably slept right through their deaths, making their beds their graves.

_Like my dad._

He refuses to think about it, turning on the radio instead. Nothing but static fills the typical music stations, but as Dave switches to the A.M. channels, he finds one that still works.

_Panic is sweeping through the streets of not just Columbus but the entire world. No place is safe. If you have to get someplace, go the back-roads. Now is your last and only time to get out of the city. No word on the state of Washington at this moment-_

The station cuts off. Dave jams his hands against the steering wheel before shutting his radio off completely, the white static noise still ringing in his ears. Only backroads, no highways. That would take him twice the time and twice the gas.

But when Dave Karofsky has a mission, no one stands in his way, not anymore. Not since he told his mother to fuck off and moved to Columbus with his dad. Not since he left his old life behind and made new friends and a new life.

Not since he held the hand of one of the only people still left in this world that he truly gave a fuck about.

On a good day, it would take only a couple of hours for Dave to reach Lima. He had done it once before, making the road-trip out to visit his nana and take her some food he had made. Her gentle hands had grasped Dave around the waist, the smell of her flowery perfume washing over him. _I’m glad you came_ , she had told him.

He only wished she had died peacefully.

About a half-hour into the drive, Dave encounters his first real problem. A line of cars has blocked the stretch of road he has been riding for a while, people leaving their doors open and screaming through the streets like a pack of wild animals. He sighs and tries to skirt around them, not caring if he knicks or scratches any of the abandoned vehicles in the process.

A man with a ‘Jesus Loves You’ shirt on runs in front of Dave’s car, causing him to slam on the brakes. Catching his breath, Dave silently regrets turning on his headlights fifteen minutes prior and curses himself for his mistake. It might cost him his life, though he knows they’re all going to die anyway.

“There is no escape, brother!” The man screams. “The end is nigh! God is raining down his fury and might on all of the sinners of this world-“

Dave doesn’t let the man finish his sentence. He accelerates his vehicle and runs directly into the man, not even flinching as the man’s body flings over the hood of his car, blood splattering on the windshield. He continues on, reaching fifty miles an hour and not bothering to look back at the body of the most-likely-dead man who had gotten in his way.

_Fucking Jesus freaks_ , he muses. There’s no time for him to feel remorse; if the end of the world was truly here, it was every man for themselves. He had endured enough of being called a sinner for a lifetime.

Fifty or so miles into the drive, a woman throws herself onto the back of Dave’s car. He rolls up his windows, ignoring her muffled shouts of ‘please help me’ and ‘they killed my children’. There’s no time to stop the car and help her, not at this point in the juncture. He brakes hard, jolting her off of the back and onto the hard pavement below. No doubt she had broken bones at the speed he was going, but Dave doesn’t worry himself with sympathy.  Everyone is going to die sometime.

He sees no one on the road for miles afterward. Rolling down his window once more, Dave feels the chilly fall air and breathes in deeply, closing his eyes for a split second. For a moment, everything feels almost normal. His dad is still alive, they’re still in their shitty apartment in Columbus and Dave is still somewhat at peace. He still has his job at Dick’s, still goes to a decent college, still pays his car payment every month.

When he opens his eyes, reality sets in and Dave is once again in the fray.

The car begins to sputter as Dave reaches the half-way point. He realizes almost too late that his car is nearly out of gas, and the only way to get to a gas station is through the highway. Dave makes up his mind almost immediately, knowing that without gas, he was as good as dead.

At least on the highway he would have a chance to fight.

***

The radios were, of course, wrong. The highway is almost like a ghost town; a few cars smattered here and there but mostly, it’s just silence. Dave drives as slow as possible, checking exit signs and looking out for trouble as he goes along.

The quiet is almost eerie, the moon providing the perfect backdrop to add to the creep factor. Tired of silence, Dave fiddles with his radio for a few minutes before managing to find an official station without static. A man is giving out information on the line, his voice a mixture of cold and official that Dave is used to hearing from news officials. The background noise is filled with the sounds of people, as if hundreds are rushing around in search of something more than the situation at hand.

_I repeat_ , the man addresses, _if you have not left your house yet, do so now._ _It will only get worse from here on out. New York is in a state of panic and emergency; California has separated from quakes. The Midwest is being hit with torrent upon torrent of rain and tornados, though authorities suspect man-made terror is involved in the utter destruction of northern parts of Columbus, Ohio. If you are near these areas, please set forth on-_

Dave nearly rips the knob off of his radio in frustration and rage. There’s nowhere to run, but the news of his city’s destruction somehow pains him in a way he hadn’t expected it would. Dave and his father had made it their home, his safe-haven of sorts, and now it was gone. And there was only one place he could go.

Back to where he was always supposed to be.

Even as Dave nears an exit with a gas station, he worries. There was a distinct possibility that there would be no gas left; that everyone and their brother had stolen as much as they could get their hands on. But as he turns into the entrance, Dave sees just what he was looking for.

He parks quickly and gets out of his car, assessing the damage. The small corner store is completely trashed: the windows are smashed in, all items of worth stolen from the inside while blood covers the glass and walls. Inside, Dave can see the large body of an Indian-looking man lying in his own blood across the front counter. Choking back vomit, Dave walks straight ahead to a red gas can full of pilfered gas.

A man lays on the ground a few feet away, throat slashed in an act of pure animalistic greed. His arms lay outstretched in front of him as if he was grabbing at something. That _something_ , Dave quickly realizes, was the gas can.

He takes the can and runs as fast as he can toward his car, not once looking back. With a quick trick he learned from his dad, Dave fills the car with the rest of the gas and high-tails it out of there as fast as he possibly can.

Why no one had taken the gas can and left is one mystery Dave does not ever want to know.

By the time he hits the highway again, Dave realizes with a slight smile that he has only thirty-odd miles until he reaches Lima, Ohio. Even then it would take him a while to reach his true destination, but the thought of being back causes more than enough anxiety to last a lifetime.

He passes the time with thoughts of better times, of memories not stained with regret and loathing. Though Columbus hadn’t been the best, it was still a hell of a lot better to Dave than Lima had ever been. His childhood had been pretty all-American; baseball teams as a kid turning into hockey teams and eventually, football teams. A father with a career in business and a mother who worked part-time at the church coming up with lesson plans.

But as he grew older, the darker side of things began to take hold. He began to question God, question his own existence, even question his family. And, in time, question his sexuality.

His mother never knew until she _knew._ One phone call later and she was out the door, searching for pamphlets and crying for God to forgive her ‘diseased son’. Not even caring that her son had been cruelly harassed; not even caring when her son tried to take his own life with the rough material of a belt.

So he had left, and his dad had (luckily) come with him. His father had gotten a transfer to his company’s main offices in Columbus and left behind their old life and old faces for good.

Until the end of the world, that is.

With a half-full gas tank and a purpose in mind, Dave Karofsky watches the miles fly by. The stench of death and destruction follows him down the highway as he passes everything from farms to industrial complexes, all looking like a wasteland.

By the time his eyes begin to droop and his arms and legs grow weary, Dave is only ten miles from the city line leading into Lima. His watch shows in green numbers the time, 2:06, and he sighs in frustration. He knows that he has to get there, has to be with…but he can’t go on much longer. He settles with his thoughts and decides to sleep once he hits the line, though Dave knows it will be no welcome relief he wishes it to be.

Reaching his destination, Dave pulls onto the nearest exit and parks near an empty dirt road. Crickets chirp through the night as the wind washes the smell of smoke and gas through Dave’s nostrils. Rolling up his windows completely, Dave turns the car off and pulls his seat back to recline.

Fumbling for his still-full knapsack, he grasps his father’s pistol in hand and holds it near his chest, closing his eyes and breathing in deeply. _Think nice thoughts_ , he tells himself. _Think nice thoughts._

Dave thinks of nothing but the sound of gunshots ringing and screams until finally, he falls into a restless sleep.

***

A voice calls to him in his dreams. A man’s voice, high and laughing at something Dave can’t fathom, the world glowing white around their bodies. Though he can’t see the man’s face, Dave knows who he is almost instantly. He would know him anywhere.

_“What…what are you doing here?”_ He asks the man, not expecting an answer.

_“You need to wake up, David.”_ The man giggles before his body tenses up. _“Wake up now,”_ he repeats, voice deeper and full of misery.

The man finally turns, showing his face to Dave. Blood spurts out of each eyelid, his face sagging, skin falling off in charred pieces. Dave screams and screams; screams until he can’t hear his voice anymore.

When he wakes, sweat dripping from his temple and tears falling from his eyes, Dave remembers where he immediately. The sky is no longer an inky black but merely a dark blue, a sign that he has definitely slept too long.

His watch says 6:05 in the morning and Dave smacks himself in the face, hoping the jolt will wake him completely.

The roads are still as clear as they were the night prior and Dave thanks whatever deity is out there for it. Turning back on the engine, Dave quickly makes a break for it before the cover of night recedes completely and leaves him alone and vulnerable.

He has maybe forty miles to go, if even that. If he’s able to move through Lima with no problems, he might make it in less than an hour. Either way, Dave knows that he will make it, whether he has to crawl those forty miles kicking and screaming to do it.

He tries the radio again, this time receiving nothing but static on all AM and FM channels. The world as Dave Karofsky once knew it has been decimated; for all he knows, he could be the only human left standing.

By the tenth mile into Lima, Dave is ready to scream in frustration. Everything is too quiet compared to how things were in Columbus, the streets full of murderous humans and their weapons. In Lima, with no cars on the road and no sign of sentient life, Dave wonders if he’s still sleeping.

He hopes beyond hope that Kurt is still alive. Somehow, Dave knows he is; he can feel it in his bones. Kurt is strong; Kurt knows how to take care of himself. Dave wonders if maybe he’s still in New York, wonders if this trip was all for naught.

But he didn’t come for him, not really. Dave doesn’t know why he came. Something pulled him in this direction, pulled him to make that turn on the highway and head toward the one place he had always hated.

When he finally reaches the back-roads and visits his old home, Dave smiles. The house is just as it always was: white with blue shudders, freshly mown grass, flowers in the garden. Except now, the lawn is stained with blood. Lying next to a faded ‘For Sale’ sign is a woman’s body, her face pressed into the grass.

Dave hits the gas pedal, not daring to imagine who the woman might be.

***

He reaches the school by 7:15. Deja-vu sets in and Dave feels a rush of familiarity at the sensation. He used to do this every weekday morning: get up, bathroom, eat, school. Somewhere within that morning routine was a moment to shed his true nature and put on a mask. Now, at the end of it all, Dave no longer has to.

The parking lot is near empty as he parks his car, grabbing the gun and cocking it for good measure. Something pulled him to this place and Dave is determined to seek it out. He doesn’t believe in God or fate or any of those things, but as he approaches the doors of a place he used to call hell, Dave knows that what lies within might be something quite opposite.

He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath and enters.

***

Dave finds him in the choir room, just as he had expected. He doesn’t look up as Dave enters, doesn’t even blink or make a sound. Several other former-glee kids are pacing the room, looking down at the ground like a lifeline.

He knocks, trying to get the attention of only one of them. Instead, all eyes look up at Dave as he stands before them awkwardly, shoving the gun into the back of his jeans quickly.

None of them look surprised at his appearance. In fact, most of them look dead in the eyes already.

“What are you doing here?” Mercedes Jones asks, breaking the long silence.

Dave fixes her with a look and moves across the room. He doesn’t care about niceties and he certainly isn’t here to atone for anything.

“Kurt?” Dave mumbles as he steps into Kurt’s line of vision. Kurt stares right through him like a ghost.

Dave sits next to him on the seat, hoping he hasn’t startled him. Placing a hand on Kurt’s shoulder, Dave tries again. “Kurt? It’s me, Dave.”

Finally Kurt turns his head to face Dave and blinks rapidly as if coming out of a trance. “Dave?”

“Yeah,” replies Dave. “It’s me.”

Kurt looks down and purses his lips, thinking of something to say. What comes out of his mouth is something Dave doesn’t expect. “Hi.”

“Hi.”

The small smile of satisfaction on Kurt’s face is enough to make the trip and the losses worth it.

They stare at each other for a while, Dave’s hand on Kurt’s shoulder and Kurt’s lips consistently pursed. When Mike Chang comes over and asks Dave where he’s been, Dave simply shrugs. When that Asian girl Dave had never gotten to know tells him that Mr. Schuester had died trying to get everyone to school for safety, Dave feels almost nothing but is somehow still grateful. He helped Kurt and that’s all that matters.

“My dad died last night,” says Kurt softly after a long silence.

Dave shudders, knowing the feeling. “Mine too.”

“How did you get here?”

“I drove.”

“No,” Kurt presses, “how did you even survive long enough _to_ get here?”

Dave pauses, thinking. “I left right before it got bad and didn’t stop until I had to.”

“Why?” Kurt looks up into Dave’s eyes. “Why did you want to come back? Why did you come here?”

“Because…something told me to. I guess that whole thing about needing to be at the right place when you die is kind of true.”

“How did you know I would be here?”

“I just knew.” Dave smiles warmly. “I wanted to see you one last time, I guess.”

Mercedes eyes them warily from across the room but does nothing to interfere. Dave wants nothing more than to shield their conversation from prying eyes. “What happened to everyone else?” Dave asks, not caring much about the answer but desperate for a change of pace.

Kurt shivers. “Rachel was in New York when this happened so she’s probably dead. Finn…no one’s seen him in twenty-four hours so _he’s_ probably dead. Blaine wanted to stay with his family which means he’s also probably dead.” Looking directly at Dave, Dave can see hard lines on Kurt’s face that he had never known before. “Who else do you want to know about?”

“Santana,” says Dave. “How did she die?”

“She didn’t.” Kurt replies. “As far as I know. She’s been in New York for a while and called me when this started. Told me she had found a safe place and had a pickaxe.”

Dave snorts without meaning to. “Sounds like her.” Kurt grunts.

It stays that way for quite a while, Dave sitting with his hands on his knees, Kurt sitting stock-straight and waiting for the next bad thing to happen. No one else in the room questions the two of them, choosing instead to wander or look out the doorway for anyone else to come.

“Let’s go to the auditorium.” Kurt suddenly says, startling Dave.

“Why?”

“Because it’s quieter there.” Dave doesn’t try to correct Kurt by telling him that it’s already quiet in the choir room.

He follows Kurt out of the room, watching as Kurt tells Mercedes he’s leaving and gives her a hug. She looks over at Dave and nods, a silent understanding finally being reached between the two of them. _Take care of my boy._

And he will.

***

Dave doesn’t ask why Kurt brought them there when they enter. He doesn’t ask how Kurt’s been or what he’s been doing with his life or even if he’s happy (he knows he’s not). When Kurt grasps Dave’s hand and pulls him onto the stage, he doesn’t protest.

They kiss like wildfire, trying hard to take it slow but never getting enough. Dave pulls and pushes against Kurt’s chapped, dry lips and Kurt does the same, both of them knowing this will be the last. When Kurt pulls away completely, Dave looks at him with wide eyes and mussed hair, completely at Kurt’s will.

“Do you still love me?”

Dave nods slowly, knowing deeply that he does.

“Then show me.” Kurt places Dave’s hands against his hips. “Please.”

They fall to the floor and Dave imagines a life, one different from what they were handed. A life in which he had never transferred to another school, never been outed and never lost contact with Kurt. A life where they grew up, dated, married, had that kid Dave had always wanted. Grew old together. _Lived_.

When he opens his eyes and finds Kurt naked underneath of him, writhing with pleasure as Dave strokes his cock, Dave nearly cries. He refused to cry after his dad died or even at all of the deaths after that, but somehow, the sight of Kurt underneath him is one that breaks away at his psyche. When Kurt comes, Dave kisses him slowly, savoring the feel of the only boy he has ever loved and the one who he knows will never love him back. They never even had a chance.

Sometime later after they have both dressed, Dave lays with Kurt on the auditorium stage and looks up with him at the ceiling. Nothing but quiet fills the wide, open room, the sounds of their breathing echoing in the space.

“Do you ever get the feeling that something out there is controlling this?” Dave asks.

Kurt scoffs. “I don’t believe in God.”

“Neither do I.” Dave answers. “But I just…I don’t know. I just never thought I’d see you again.”

“I never pegged you for the type to get all mushy after sex, Karofsky.” Kurt turns toward Dave, propping up his arm and laying his head in his hand. Embarrassed, Dave licks his lips before noticing the teasing smirk on Kurt’s face.

“Shut up,” says Dave as he playfully nudges Kurt in the hipbone, both of them smiling contentedly.

Neither of them noticed the smell of smoke wafting in through the closed door-cracks or the sound of the smoke alarm as it began to blare.

***

Dave Karofsky had always expected his death to mean something. Even when he was little, he had just assumed he would die old in his bed, an accomplished sports something-or-other with his fifteen grandchildren right beside him. As he got older and found out the cruelties of life, he had thought he would die alone by his own hand, belt wrapped tight around his neck.

But now he knows the truth, the truth about death and the truth about existence. Something…maybe a god, maybe Mother Nature, maybe even a comet for all he knew…brought him back to where he belonged. He didn’t die happily at an old age in his warm bed, but he also didn’t die too soon and too alone.

Dave knows now that the truth is…he’s going to die content, next to the person he loves most in the place he hated the most. Life is unnecessarily cheeky in that regard. He knows that now.

When Kurt smiles up at him and grasps his hand tightly, Dave knows this was how it was always meant to be. All of their circumstances had led them to this, _this moment_ , this single shining bit of happiness in a shitstain conclusion to existence.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Kurt says, and Dave simply nods.

The doors open and Dave clenches his sweaty hand tighter around Kurt’s. This is what he wants. He’s scared and afraid of the unknown and left wondering, but this is how it was meant to be. Him and Kurt and the end of the entire fucking world completely.

The fire begins to fan in their direction and Dave stares at Kurt, not blinking even when tears and smoke and dust rush through his eyes and blur his vision.

“I love you,” he chokes out and Kurt squeezes his hand.

The last thing Dave sees is Kurt’s face as the fire engulfs them completely.

_I love you, I love you. See you soon._

_***_

Two children play side by side, their pretty white dresses flowing in the breeze around them. Their parents watch them dance around each other, smiling wide at the scene before them. Brown hair mixes with blonde as the children grow closer, patting each other’s faces and giggling at the other.

“My name’s Cecilia,” the blonde one says to her newest companion, a blush reddening on her cheeks.

“I’m Emily,” the brunette child replies, brushing Cecilia’s hair behind her ears. “Nice to meet you.”

Cecilia smiles.

_I’m glad you’re here. I love you._


End file.
